I Love Boobs And You Love Boobs…So Why Can’t We Love Boobs Together?
You know what’s great? Boobs. Do you know how I know they’re great? Because nearly everybody loves them. Men love them. They make us happy. Women love them? They are orbs worthy of appreciation. Everybody can appreciate curves it seems. Even kids love them. They remind them of pillows. And who doesn’t love pillows? Have you ever in your life met somebody and you said, “hey do you like pillows? And they said, ‘hell naw I don’t like no pillows.'” Naw. You haven’t.
Everybody likes pillows. Sure, people might not use them. That’s not the pillow’s fault. Maybe they have a bad spine or something. Pillows ain’t got nothing to do with that, b. At the very least, people don’t not like pillows. Women put tons of useless pillows all over furniture. Master bedroom beds look like ironing boards with boobs all over them.
Boobs, yo. They’re the best.
And if I know they’re the best and you know they’re the best (and by you, I mean thee of the boob), how come when we BOTH see a set of miraculous and aesthetically pleasing and perhaps even comment inducing boobs, I get in trouble for looking? Serious question.
See, I know you like boobs. I’ve heard you remark about nice boobs in movies. I know that women can appreciate the female human form. I know this because the day I found this out to be true was like the day that Cinque and ‘nem finally won that court case. It was cathartic and I had a moment of “Could it be? Women can enjoy looking at women as much as I do? You mean, we can talk about women TOGETHER?”
That one tear Denzel shed in Glory? I shed that. Different reasons of course, but a tear is a tear. And if I die momma don’t you cry, remember me ballin. Memphis is down 1 game to none. Warriors was a great movie.
Let’s say we’re both out and some woman with tremendous cleavage enters our walking path. Now, I knooooooooooow you see it (I know you see it). I know you see it because Stevie Wonder would see it and would pull out his iPhone and take pictures of it then write a song called “Cracks On The Sidewalk”. So if I see it and you see it, and we both know good boobage when we see it, why for come if I look I feel guilty?
Also, I don’t buy the, “when women look its not perverse so its not that big of a deal” argument. Look, admiratorious boobs make everybody a Perv. Or perve. Is that how you spell perve? Does it have an “e” on the end? Did I just make it French? Is it better as pervé? What happens to an “e” deferred? Black history is real y’all. But you know what’s also real? The chasm between what women can do and men can do when boobs are involved. I mean I’m not looking because I’m dreaming of playing with or fondling them (I might be). I’m merely looking because how can you NOT? It’s not perverse, it’s human nature. It’s like the answer to “why?”
It’s even made me wonder if there’s some sort of code. Like, does the amount of respect we pay depend on what our women are working with? I don’t think there should be because as a man, let me tell you, every time I see a set of boobs it’s like seeing boobs for the first time, even if I’ve seen them a million times. For some objects that don’t really do much except sit there and jiggle when provoked, they sure are super exciting. The way we swoon over them you’d think they could not only do your taxes BUT get you thousands back each year…even if you don’t own property or little people that depend on you.
But I know most men do their damndest not to stare even when women put their sweater puppies on full display. It easily might be the hardest thing to do as a man. It’s like those pants with words on the butt that are meant to be read – I mean, if a word isn’t meant to be read then what is it there for – but people judge you for exercising your 27th Amendment right to reading. Or maybe its just reading butts for too long. Yo no se.
I’m saying though, you see them, boo. I see them. I know you’re looking because I see you looking. For most men, its easier to just walk away then it is to engage in a conversation with a woman who got them thangs out like whoa! Because if we talk too long we’re in trouble. Maybe not real trouble, but like time-out trouble. And if you see them and I see them, and you like them and I like them, why can’t we like them together?
I won’t even chalk it up to insecurity; I don’t think that’s it. You know I love yours. So what gives? How come we can see the same set of ostentatiously gratuitous beautious boobs and I can’t really pay them their respects?
Respect is all we have in this world. I’m paying it forward.
What’s the rule here, ladies? Sharing is caring. Help us help you enjoy what we enjoy while we’re both enjoying it together.
Fellas, can ya help me?